Demonized Ego
by SkyeElf
Summary: I was told not to go there. I was warned. But my ego became a monster, and it needed to be fed.


_A/N: Born from, well, being bored in an exam. Not mine._

**Demonized ego**

For years my mother warned me. But I waved it off, what did she know?

Of course I knew of the Demon Barber – who didn't? He was nearly as notorious as Jack the Ripper. Slitting people's throats, them being put into pies by Mrs. Lovett and then those pies being sold to the public. It was a thriving business back then, but mum said she didn't go there. She wasn't allowed. Her guardian had forbidden her to go there.

Sickening, isn't it?

The tourists sure enjoyed Mrs. Lovett's Pie Shop, not for the meat pies, thank goodness, but for the piece of London history it held. Odd how they seem to think of this as History, seeing as the tale was perhaps twenty-five years old. But no one dared to enter the Barber Shop. They said it was haunted. They feared his spirit would come and… murder them. Cause bright scarlet to drip onto their (very expensive) shirts and blouses. Their last moments filled with his mad laughter.

I'd seen pictures of him. A haunted look on his face. Lust for revenge only fueled by the world wronging him.

I was young. Ignorant beyond belief; and, dare I say, invincible? I believed that nothing could touch me – and nothing ever would. I was a teenage boy with no fear. I was always blinded by that figurative bubble, known as my ego.

And that ego became a monster – and it had to be fed. So I did what all others didn't – I went to the hideout of Sweeney Todd, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street.

I didn't believe in ghosts, hell, I didn't even believe in love.

I walked up slowly, ignoring the chilling wind that was obviously trying to make me turn around. I pushed the creaking door open – and I felt him immediately. An unseen presence, a very dominating presence, but he didn't jump out at me. No, he was waiting. He had no haste. I was told not to go there, but I went there. Shaking off my mother's words I took another step. The door behind me slammed shut – and it was quiet.

"_These are my friends… see how they glisten… see this one shine… how he smiles… in the light"_

"_Pretty women… and who is it be said is your intended, sir?"_

"_My ward… as pretty as a rosebud…"_

"_As pretty as her mother?"_

"_Patience… enjoy it… revenge can't be taken in haste…"_

"_Easy now, hush, love, hush, I keep telling you what's your rush?"_

"_There's a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren't worth what a big would spit, and it goes by the name of London… but not for long… oh we all deserve to die… even you, Mrs. Lovett, even I…"_

How odd – that's how I felt about London too. The scenes played out in front of me, almost as if it was a silent movie…

He swooped down on me from nowhere, his body corporeal, but a very real razor held in his hand. He came to a soft landing in front of me.

"A shave, sir? Come on, all young men shave."

I shook my head, unable to speak. He smiled a haunting smile and took a step closer. Within seconds he'd twisted me around and jerked my head backwards. Cold metal met warm skin.

I prayed, for not the first time in my life, but I prayed. He started to move it…

A bloodcurdling scream filled my ears. The razor was whipped back and I was thrown forwards.

"Forget my face." He whispered. Yes, that's likely. He strode to the door, but evaporated before he could reach it, taking his friend with him. His hand had been outstretched towards the doorknob, and a frustrated yell sounded about the room.

I stumbled out of the Barber Shop, avoiding everyone's eyes and ran straight home. My mother took one look at me and instantly knew.

"I told you not to go there."

"How did you know?"

"Never mind that. Please, promise to me you won't return, sweetheart."

"I do, mother."

She tended to the little gash that was there on his neck. "Poor thing." She tutted. I looked like my mother. I had her eyes and some facial features – it made me appear younger than I actually was. But I had my father's hair.

"Johanna?" My father entered the house. "What happened?"

"He fell, dear." She answered easily, pressing the band-aid carefully to my neck.

"You won't believe what I just heard… some boy went into my old friend, Mr. Todd's, shop – and they said he couldn't talk when he came out."

_A/N; So… what ya think? Should I go on or leave it there?_


End file.
